


Equilibrium

by SephrinaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek isn't a fail wolf, Eventual Death, Gen, Heart Disease, Hereditary illness, Protective Pack, Sad, Slow Build, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephrinaRose/pseuds/SephrinaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lived his life in the balance, walking along his tightrope of equilibrium. He knew one day that he was going to slip and fall into his abyss, but that was simply apart of his life now.</p><p>His father knew, obviously. It was his genetics that had cause this after all. But Scott didn't. And, Scott knew about the potentially life threatening Supernatural shenanigans that they got up to. His father didn't.</p><p>He was leading a double life, and it would be like the coolest things ever...</p><p>If his life didn't hang in the balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the prologue of my new story. It will be sad, but hopefully there will be character development and maybe a relationship or two. It follows the cannon story line from after Stiles gets bashed up by Gerard, but that will come in the second chapter.
> 
> Enjoy.

Stiles had always thought that if he was going to die of something hereditary...it would have to be from his mothers side.

She had gone through a whole lot of nasty shit before she even got _close_ to dying. So he really wouldn't be all that surprised if he'd somehow managed to gain some lucky stand of DNA from her which would lead to his untimely demise.

But he'd never expected it from his dad.

Because it turns out, his fathers bad habits had not actually caused his unhealthiness - Mind you, they _had_ helped - but that wasn't it.

It was called Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy

Pronounced hi-pur-troh-fic, kahr-dee-oh-mahy-op-uh-thee.

Trust him...he did the research. And spent at least and hour sitting there mouthing the words until he could pronounce it.

It was a disease in which the heart muscle (called myocardium, don't even both pronouncing it) became abnormally thick, which - of course - made it harder for the heart to pump blood.

Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, while _usually_ not fatal in most people, was the common cause of heart-related sudden death in people under 30. Which probably meant he could still be kickin' for few more years... If his life wasn't so fricking exhausting.

But it was the most common cause of sudden death in athletes.

You heard him. Sudden death.

Like whoops, 'tripped over and now I'm dead' kind. Sudden. Quick.

And that was the way he was gonna go. Always had been.

 

So yeah. And while he wasn't exactly an athlete, he'd _tried_ (And it wasn't exactly fair when the people you trained with could punch through _walls_ ). He remembered the time his father had fought him fiercely about going into Lacrosse, and he remembered throwing something like 'just because I might die, doesn't mean I can't live'.

And then they left it at that.

 

His fathers family line had the gene for it. Some sort of tiny little twist in his DNA which had caused this. His father hadn't really got the effects of the gene, since it decided to skip him and move through to his spawn, namely Stiles. He still needed to look after his health better then most people, which he _really_ didn't do.

But for Stiles, it was a little different.

He was mostly fine. He could do whatever the hell he wanted...most of the time. He couldn't drink too much alcohol (he was underage...but when did that stop anyone?) and he was advised to avoid strenuous activity.

 

So what did he do? Well in true Stiles fashion, he'd gotten himself mixed up in some funky supernatural bullshit. Just peachy for his good ol' heart's state of being...considering how often he was physically _running for his life_.

And that was just another reason he'd never told his father.

Yes, he was the sheriff and his dad..but Stiles didn't want to put that pressure onto him. He had enough pressure on his shoulders as it was. He didn't need to know that his sons way of living was probably going to kill him.

 

But, even if his father did find out...he was never going to stop. Not to spite his father or anything...but because he loved this. He knew so much more about this wacky world he lived in. He knew all its secrets, leaning more at every twist and turn.

That's him, a thirst for knowledge. Too bad the same rules didn't apply to his school work.

And because he was living. He wasn't just surviving. Wasn't just getting through each day, gingerly stepping around anything that required his heart to pump blood faster then usual.

He was living. Living like he was put on this earth to do.

And if he stopped living, he would stop existing. He wasn't a boy that could sit still. He wasn't the child that would shut up simply because it was convenient for others. Because he wanted every moment to be as as lively as possible. Wanted to live to the maximum extent, knowing as much as he could and living as much as he could.

Because it simply was the finest way to live, in his honest opinion.

But it did have its incredible downfalls...but he always got through them, somehow. Because if he wasn't dead already, he wanted to keep going. And so, he hadn't told his dad about the werewolves or hunters or anything that wasn't essential to his job.

 

But then he also had never told Scott of his disease. Never told him that one day it might all get too much, and then he would be face flat in the ground without a heartbeat. Because if he told Scott, Scott would never let him get close to anything, never tackled him in Lacrosse...never treated him any other way than as a porcelain doll.

 

He felt like he was living a double life. Using one to make excuses which in made excuses to the other party. Back and fourth, back and fourth.

But he had to be careful to keep it all balanced.

 

Because his life was only flourishing through balance. He only could live this way because he was an absolute _genius_ , and had set it up from day one.

 

But one day, he knew this perfect equilibrium would collapse.

...And his life would go with it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_This is hell_

Stiles could only think of the one sentence, before he was hit again. And again. And again.

And his fragile human frame was not really made for this. Plus, he had his heart thing-ma-jig and it really wasn't looking all that bright for him.

"If you are going through hell, keep going." As both Winston Churchill and Ms Morell once said.

_Well I don't exactly have a choice_

 

And he had finally just gotten good. At like, life in general. Like, come on...he'd scored in Lacrosse! Not once, and not by default....but three whole times.

But he should have known that when anything good happened to him, something horrible had to counterbalance it.

 

And this was a pretty decent - _painful_ \- counterbalance, in his opinion.

Gerard hit him again and again. And he was going to be honest...that shit hurt. And then he changed to kicks. Kicking him in the ribs. Over and over and over.

Again, again, again. Over, over, over.

Each word for another painful blow. And he couldn't withhold all this. He was too skinny, too weak, too ill to stop any of this.

He was just collateral damage that was to be used to get to Scott.

But he wasn't made to keep up with this. His body was human. Weak and ill, human. He couldn't keep up with the supernatural. He couldn't keep up with this life. He was not made to deal with the supernatural.

His equilibrium was slipping. He couldn't keep up. Not now. It was too hard, too fast.

 

But this was never about him.

 

He was the sidekick for a reason. He was never the one with all the attention, or all the focus. It wasn't about him, never had been.

So he couldn't let it slip. He needed to keep going. Keep fighting. Because he had people to save. People he needed to smack some sense into (not literally, of course. He would have his hand bitten off). Besides...what would Scott do without him?

But it was starting to feel like his control was slipping through his fingers. And that wasn't his choice either.

The human body couldn't be healed by the mind.

 

______

 

He knew that once his father saw him, he'd flip.

Because he didn't know why Stiles came home some nights exhausted, came home with a weak smile on his face and a hand over his heart, like he was protecting it.

Stiles had thought about telling him. Sometimes it would have just made his life so much easier. But he also knew that once he told his dad, it would all be over. He would pull him out of the pack before you could say 'bob's your uncle'. He would isolate Stiles from the outside...and maybe even _homeschool him_.

And then every thought of telling his father would be shut down. Because he couldn't go through school as it was, let alone without his friends and only his father for company.

Stiles needed his friends. They kept him sane, despite all the insane stuff they got up to. They kept him with the living world, no matter how frayed his connections became. Kept him from not just surviving, but living.

And that was the highest honour he could ask for.

 

________

 

"This is why I didn't want you to play lacrosse! You can't always predict things like this, Stiles. And I...I can't protect you out there, son."

Stiles sighed, falling into his embrace. He just let the man vent on him, let him let out all his stress and pain. And Stiles could feel his one stress falling away in return. He knew his father could see the damage to his face, looking at him like he had when Stiles had appeared in the door.

But the rest of his body was bound to be worse. Hell, he could feel that it was much worse. He was careful to hide the wince from his father as his hard embrace brushed the bruising beneath his clothes.

He just hid his face into his fathers neck...and hoped tomorrow wouldn't be so hard to live through.

 

_________

 

"I'm not a hero." He said to himself, watching his father leave. People keep insisting that he was a hero. That he was so courageous and smart. But he didn't feel that way, not at all. They acted like this was his plan all along. That everyone had made it through because he'd had a plan.

But he didn't. He didn't have a plan. He was not courageous, not strong. Nothing that happened this week was stemming from a plan. It had been a massive mix of different problems, all mounting up to the Lacrosse Final. He'd had no plan. No way that he was sure would save them.

They'd just been lucky.

They always were. They lived because of luck. And, when they weren't lucky...well, you could guess what would happen. But that's all they were. Lucky.

No plan would have worked. No amount of preparation could have foreseen this circumstance. They were just lucky. And so was Stiles.

Stiles _lived_ on luck.

Because every time he played Lacrosse or raised his heartbeat...he added another bullet to his Russian roulette chamber. He liked to think that there were 100 bullet holders in his chamber. And every year, he had to shoot himself in the head. But, the more he ran and the more he fought for his life..the more bullets he added.

And his chances of survival were falling. But that was okay. Everyone had bullets in their chambers. He just had a few more.

But luck was all they survived off. All he survived off. He didn't plan, because with plan making came clear and concise decisions. And he most certainly didn't this week, or any of the past weeks in his life since Scott was bitten.

He functioned off quick thinking and fast paced moving.

And that was currently the only thing keeping him afloat. Keeping him on his tightrope of equilibrium. But he knew he wasn't exactly on his tightrope right now. It was more like he was gripping it under his armpits, legs swinging in the abyss that was waiting to claim him.

Hopefully when he healed he would have enough strength to climb back onto his tightrope. So he could keep walking it until one day he wouldn't be able to get back up again, get back up onto the rope to continue.

One day where he wouldn't be able to continue...and he'd just fall into the abyss.

Because he wasn't a hero. He was just the little dying human. He wasn't anything courageous or strong. He just lived to survive. He wasn't a werewolf. Wasn't a banshee. Wasn't anything spectacular.

He wasn't capable of the things his friends could do. Because they were above him. Walking on a platform, not completely safe but further away from the dark abyss. They lived dangerously up there, but not as much as him. They didn't have to keep up a balance, an equilibrium.

They could jump and run. Be free. And he didn't get that simple luxury. Because he had to keep his balance.

Because he wasn't a hero. Wasn't strong or well balanced, Wasn't powerful or supernatural.

He just wasn't.

 

_____

 

When you have been dying as long as Stiles has, the word begins to lose its meaning.

But sometimes he thought about it. Mulled over it and says it so many times that it just seemed ridiculous. Like what you do with your name, mouthing the syllables until it sounded weird and strange. And then you start to contemplate the English language, and then every language that ever existed.

Or at least Stiles did.

Dying. _Dying_. Dy-ing. Dye-Ying.

It didn't feel real to Stiles. Not anymore. It's just felt like something that had moulded in his life. Just something that had become a part of him. Like the moles he had on his cheek, or the scar he had on the tissue on the inside of his hip, where he got his appendix out when he was seven. It was just something he looked at sometimes, pondered over it, and then left it alone.

It should seem strange that it had slipped so seamlessly into his life, into his being.

But it wasn't, not to him at least.

Because he had been dying his whole life. It had been there before he'd even taken his first breath. Been set in his DNA from the very beginning.

So it didn't seem strange at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sherriff makes a tough decision.

John had had enough.

He couldn't watch Stiles continue on like that anymore. He couldn't watch him destroy himself. Yes, he was a teenager, he was allowed to make mistakes.

But John couldn't allow him to make this mistake.

He'd let go of his inhibitions about Lacrosse simply because Stiles didn't play often, or at all, if he was going to be honest. But last night...last night had refuelled his horrible fears. Because when Stiles had come home all bloody and beaten, he felt all his fears come rushing at him...eating away at him.

Because he had seen Claudia in Stiles.

That same look of despair. Of realising he was weak. Of realising he couldn't control his own life.

He could see it all happening again. The realisation, the sorrow, the slow defeat. And he couldn't watch it again.

He couldn't.

He couldn't just stand by and watch as he did with Claudia. He couldn't just look on as his son withered away. But he had to let him live life. He couldn't stop him from living life as the teenage boy he was. Couldn't stop him from making memories and hanging out with friends.

But he couldn't just sit by and let his son die.

It was an awkward contrast he couldn't fit anywhere.

And so he came to the decision to get Stiles a heart defibrillator. But not the way you'd think.

Not like the one Stiles had randomly picked up that one time with Derek Hale, trying to be helpful. But it was a heart defibrillator implant. The doctor had shown them the device when they first found out about Stiles disease. The little device that would be fitted onto Stiles heart.

But they hadn't done it.

...mainly because Stiles was terrified.

To this day John still didn't know why Stiles was so adverse to the idea. But he had chalked it up to childlike fear. The fear of having something unnatural in his body that would be responsible with resetting his heart, should it fail him.

But John had let him run away. Let him escape that plan, that strategy for survival. He hadn't fought him, didn't try to convince him. Because Stiles had been fragile, and so had he. He couldn't find it in his heart to fight his son after he'd just lost his mother.

And it had been fine. Stiles was generally okay and safe.

But now he was sixteen. He was a teenage boy. He was running, playing lacrosse and who knows else what. And it was becoming clear to John that he had no other option.

Because he would not let another family member die while he sat by idle.

Not again.

________

"You want me to what?" Stiles asked, taken aback.

"...heart defibrillator, Stiles." John said, voice quiet. He stood in Stiles's doorway, almost timid.

Stiles just stared at him.

This again. He knew it would come one day. One day, but he'd hoped it'd be later rather than sooner.

Because when the words came to mind he couldn't help the images that followed.

The ripping of flesh, the tearing sinew giving way. A harsh and cold metal being implanted deep inside him, latching onto his heart like a leash. He had had nightmares of cyborgs and robots.

And that had been his original fear. But now..now it was worse.

 

Because if he got this. If he put that _thing_ in his chest...this would be real. He would be reliant on a machine for the remainder of his life. He would not only be a weak and fragile human, he'd be reliant on some machine to keep him alive. But that wasn't his only new fear. Because his greatest fear was his friends finding out.

And most of them had supersonic hearing.

If he wasn't careful, they would know. His double life would be that much harder to live, the added wait of hiding the ticking in his chest, deeply hidden beneath organs and sinew.

His Equilibrium would be harder to balance. Harder to maintain. You'd think it would be easier, with a implanted life support. But it wasn't, at least not for him.

Because he have that weight in his chest. Yes, he had felt the guilt of all his secrets before. But with this device, it would all feel real.

Because sometimes this life didn't feel like his. Didn't feel real. He felt like disconnected, locked wifi.

Yes, he was great with analogies.

But he sometimes felt like he couldn't make it all just fit back into place. Sometimes he felt locked out, that he didn't belong in this life.

But then this would be the opposite.

He would be so heavily involved in everything he did. He would have to stay vigilant, and keep everyone as far away from his heart as possible. To coverup the sound of his partly mechanised heartbeat with his voice, or something.

He would he falling off the other side of his Equilibrium.

But it's seemed as though he didn't get a choice. His father looked timid in his doorway, but his eyes held the firmness of a brick wall should he try to back out. He knew for a fact that Stilinski's were stubborn.

And his father had made up his mind.

 

_______

 

"-iles?...Stiles?" Stiles blinked, looking up as his name was called. The nurse smiled at him, and he nodded his confirmation. He took a deep breath.

He was fading in and out a lot recently. Letting his mind run wild with all of the different possibilities of this going wrong. And, even if nothing did go wrong...how long could he really keep this from a bunch of superhumans?

But, this was his only choice. This was his life. And in order to live this life, he needed this device. He wanted to live, for as long and as fun as possible.

 

He didn't not want his life to be just long years of slow death. Of constantly watching himself, gingerly steeping along his tightrope of Equilibrium. He knew he could always be aware of both those things, but at least he wouldn't have to worry so much about that sudden death thingo. With this device, if his heart suddenly had a slip up and he tripped to the ground, it would restart his heart.

Like, 'whoops, give me a sec and you'll be right as rain'.

Or maybe not. He didn't really know much about himelf or his illness anymore. In the past week, his found himself more weighted. Heavier. And it just put more pressure on his ability to balance on his equilibrium.

But he didn't know how reassuring that would be when he suddenly stood up after collapsing like a rag doll, his friends watching around him.

He guessed he'd just have to find out.


End file.
